


Shadow and the Soul

by nymeriadirewolff (bbl8te)



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Blowjobs, Casual Sex, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Forge Sex, Gen, Gendry tops, Gendrya - Freeform, Happy Ending is Promised, I swear, On the surface, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Season 8, Smut, gendry POV, gendrya smut, gods help them, good ol p in v, they're fools in love your honor, when Arya lets him, with some angst thrown in for fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2020-05-16 04:50:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19310971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbl8te/pseuds/nymeriadirewolff
Summary: Gendry is leaving for Storm’s End. Arya is leaving for King’s Landing. Until then, Gendry is prey to all of the creative ways in which Arya will get them into trouble. What starts as a light-hearted game of seduction quickly unravels as Arya and Gendry are forced to confront the future that lies ahead, and their true feelings for each other.----On Hiatus as of March 2020!





	1. The Forge

**Author's Note:**

> I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,  
> or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.  
> I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,  
> in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
> 
> —Pablo Neruda

Gendry imagined how it would have looked to a passerby: the blacksmith fucking the Lady Stark of Winterfell over his work bench. 

They'd see Arya with her legs around his waist, her tiny fingernails raking lines up his back. They'd see his hands gripping her ass, then running up her back and winding tightly into her hair. They'd hear the filthy curses and commands coming from Arya's lips and Gendry's quiet replies. The heat of the forge had brought their body temperatures to boiling and both of them were drenched in sweat. Gendry hadn’t even had the decency to bathe after working and he was covered in ash from head to toe. He dragged his hands over Arya’s chest and was gratified at the black streaks he left behind. 

It was risky. All of it. But when Arya Stark, Bringer of the Dawn, demands you take your clothes off... Well, he supposed that anyone would be hard-pressed to say “no”. 

Divested of her cloaks and padded leather, Arya was as small of a woman as he’d ever seen. She was dainty hands, slim waist, and breasts that fit snugly in the palms of his hands. He would have likened her to a cat if it weren’t for that hungry look in her eyes. Wolf’s eyes, to be sure, and he was helpless as her prey. 

He caught her lips, already swollen with too many kisses. When they broke apart, he pushed her flat on her back roughly and pounded into her with renewed vigor. She was always beautiful to him, but he thought there was something special about how rosy her cheeks blushed during sex. Her breasts bounced with every thrust and he leaned over to briefly catch one of her pebbled nipples between his teeth. 

When he pulled away and resumed his punishing pace on her, Arya reached out to touch the hard contours of his abdomen. They were slick with sweat and tight with tension. The sight of those delicate fingers on his body was enough to push him over. He withdrew with a grunt and spilled himself all over her stomach while fireworks went off behind his eyes. 

“Seven _Hells_ ,” he cursed, the intensity of his orgasm nearly buckling his knees. He braced his hands on either side of her on the bench as his cock continued to twitch in agonizing release.  
He’d made a complete mess, his seed dripping down her sides and onto his table and Gods help him, he couldn’t care less.

Arya's legs still held his tights in a vice-like grip and they began to tremble with the effort. Gendry kept his eyes screwed shut. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her right now, not when he was so vulnerable. He was sure that his eyes were screaming _I love you I love you I love you._

Every time they had sex he was falling apart more and more, down into the depths of a hole he’d never be able to dig himself out of. Worst of all, Gendry knew that he was falling all alone. 

Before he could pull back, Arya had straightened up a little and pressed her forehead against his. She was panting hard and her forehead was just as sweaty as his. It was as though she was savoring this moment. In his post-coital glow, Gendry allowed himself to believe it. 

Then, just as quickly as the emotions swelled, they retreated and recoiled into the depths of his hollow heart. He pulled away first, pulled up his pants, and went to find a rag for her to clean herself with. 

When he returned, she was still sitting in the same position he’d left her in, legs spread wide and his seed over her belly. She was staring into the fire before her, pieces of her hair plastered to her face with sweat. Gods help him, he’d etch the image into his brain forever.

She turned those large, gray eyes on him. Mischief danced in them as he put the clean rag on her stomach. Then, unable to help himself, he started cleaning it away. 

She stilled his hand. “I’ll do it,” she offered. He swallowed thickly and let go.

“Am I the only girl you’ve fucked in a forge?” she asked him abruptly. It was casual as asking him what he’d had for supper. 

_Do you really care?_ he thought to himself.

“I’ve never liked to mix work and pleasure,” he said as an answer. Not a yes, not a no. Just enough to get her brain working. 

“Hmm,” she said. He took satisfaction in the curious expression on her face. It almost looked like jealousy to him. His brain was starved for any sign of affection from her and he picked greedily at the breadcrumbs she left behind.

Arya was planning on going to King’s Landing. He knew it even before she’d barged into his forge and told him as much. In fact, he’d known it the moment they’d defeated the Dead. Arya was supposed to have been excited, elated, or even just relieved. She was supposed to be anything except the hollowed out warrior she had remained. Humanity was saved and she was their savior. There were feasts and drinking, people seeking her out and falling at her feet. Arya the Silent, they called her. Or, Arya the Dawnbringer, hero to us all. 

And yet, nothing had changed within Arya herself. She continued to lurk in the shadows of the castle, honing her blades, and no doubt wondering when she’d be able to finally cross that last little name off her list.

Well, one thing had changed. Arya now seemed to find it fit to fuck Gendry whenever she damn well wanted. 

Gendry watched openly as she put her clothes back on, layer after excruciating layer. If he was being completely honest with himself, it was just as exciting watching her put her clothes on as it was watching her take them off. Maybe it was the thought that only he knew what lay beneath all of those ties and fastenings. He knew every spot that made her ticklish, had rained kisses on every scar. They were details known to he and he alone and it satisfied a deep and primal urge inside of him.

When Arya couldn’t find her cloak, he pulled it out from a high reaching shelf. She raised a brow at his choice of location.

“To keep it away from the soot,” he told her. He put it over her shoulders and hooked it into place. “You should be more careful with your things.”

“I am careful,” she replied hotly.

Gendry reached for a rag from that same shelf and started to wipe the sweat from her face. “No, you’re not. If you were careful you wouldn’t even be here right now.” 

Arya snatched the rag away and dabbed at her skin herself. She then proceeded to fix her hair. “What does that make you for letting me in, then?” she told him.

“An idiot,” he replied earnestly. “A big bleeding idiot. If your brother or sister find out-“

“They won’t.”

“If they did-“

“They won’t.”

They stared at each other with narrowed eyes. She turned to leave but Gendry put a stubborn hand on her shoulder. “I admit I get carried away, too” he told her, “That’s as much on me as it is on you. But you have to be more careful. Someone of your standing can’t be seen doing things like this.”

“Fuck my standing.” She shook his arm off. “I can do what I want. Besides, you’re not a bastard anymore, even though you’re determined to keep acting like one.”

“That’s not the point, Arya. I may not be a bastard but I’m also not your fucking husband.”

He knew he shouldn’t have said the word, but he couldn’t think of any other way to get through to her. Jon and Sansa finding out about their trysts was one thing, it was a whole other matter for anyone else to find out. Rumors and gossip spread hot and fast and the last thing Gendry needed was Arya’s sparkling new reputation tarnished by a few rolls in the hay with the senior blacksmith. 

He was well aware of the hypocrisy of it all. His late father was well-known for his whoremongering and bastards, but it was something completely different for a woman to follow that same path.

Not that he was calling Arya a whoremonger. Really. She’d only been a whore for him.

The thought settled stubbornly in his balls and threatened the return of an untimely erection. He quickly forced the thought away. 

Arya was silent after what he’d said. She looked down at his shoes, her brow furrowed as she contemplated some unknown thought. He hated to see her chastened. 

“A little more discretion,” he said lightly, readjusting her cloak unnecessarily. “That’s all.”

She made a funny face at him. “Been sharpening your vocabulary, have you?”

He grinned sheepishly. “Trying to, anyway. I can’t be the first illiterate Lord of Storm’s End.”

“When are you leaving?” she replied offhandedly. Her expression was unreadable as she looked off into the fire again. 

“Not so soon. I have a lot to learn before I go. There are still bannermen to call, names to learn, utensils to use.” 

Arya fought a smile. Gendry knew she would. 

_What about you?_ he wanted to ask. Instead, he recovered his shirt and threw it on.

“Get on, now. Get out of my forge,” he said, pushing her towards the entrance. 

“Technically, this is my forge,” she replied over her shoulder. 

“Yes m’lady.”

“Gendry.”

“Shhh. Get out of here, before someone sees you.”

He watched her walk away. She tossed one final, coy look over her shoulder before she disappeared into the shadows once more.

His stomach twisted painfully as she went. Gendry didn’t know how much more he could take of watching her leave. Arya Stark wasn’t a fool: she had to know just how much havoc she was wreaking on him with this push and pull game they were playing. She was either pretending to be oblivious to it all, or honestly didn’t care. 

Gendry wasn’t sure which one he preferred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let’s be honest here. You wanted this just as much as I did. 
> 
> I wrote this scene waaaay before S8 concluded. I sat on it for a long time afterwards, trying to figure out what to do with it. In the end, I just had to rearrange some bits here and there and was able to make it stand on its own. I have ideas for future chapters but nothing complete as of yet. 
> 
> Season 8 may have ended but this ship is far from dead!


	2. Peace Offering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *taps mic* Is this thing still on?
> 
> I am SO sorry for the delay. Thank you so much to everyone who has liked and commented on this little fic. It makes me happier than I can say.

**Two Weeks Prior**

Gendry had been so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn’t even noticed her there, at first. Following his blundering proposal, he’d promptly joined his fellow smiths outside and drank his weight in ale. It would have either numbed his pain or killed him, and both were pleasing options at the time.

Sansa had given him a room on the ground-level of the castle. It had been difficult to adjust to the sudden luxuries of a bed and a hot bath and servants, but he knew the sooner he acclimated to his new life, the better.

Gendry shut the door to his room behind him and staggered forward to drop another few logs into the dying fire. He had already started to clumsily remove his boots when the creak of the wooden chair in the far corner surprised him. He jerked backwards and barely caught himself from falling arse first into the flames. 

Arya was just out of reach of the gentle glow of the fireplace, her face half-shadowed and revealing nothing. She raised a brow at him.

“Are you drunk?” she asked flatly.

He staggered forward, not quite believing his eyes. “Yes,” he replied truthfully. “What are you doing here?”

Her expression was inscrutable and it infuriated him. He remembered her as a child, wild and uncontrollable, with a hair trigger temper and loud voice. The difference between that girl and this one was jarring.

It dawned on Gendry that perhaps he really _didn’t_ know the girl standing before him. This wasn’t little Arry curled up next to him in the woods. This was Arya Stark of Winterfell, prodigy of the Faceless Men, slayer of the Night King and She-Wolf of the North. There were years of experiences there that were lost to Gendry and they had shaped Arya into a woman he couldn’t possibly claim to know. 

You proposed to a stranger, the voice in his head told him. She was right to reject you.

If only it hadn’t taken him half a barrel of ale to figure that one out.

“I wanted to explain myself,” Arya said, after a moment. She stepped out of the shadow and towards him, the fire illuminating every feature of her lovely face. The bruise around her eye brought a dull ache to his chest. He wanted to touch her, to take all of the pain away. 

Then, Arya looked him up and down, no doubt gauging whether or not he was too inebriated to speak to. Gendry remembered the coolness with which she had left him after his blundering proposal and he turned away from her.

“There’s nothing to essplain,” he slurred. Exhaustion and rejection were rolling over him in waves and he dragged a tired hand over his face. Mortifyingly, he felt the alcohol in his system double down on his senses. It wouldn’t be long before he passed out.

“You don’t seem fine.”

“I’m piss drunk. How else am I supposed to seem.” His room was freezing. He moved towards the fire and clumsily tossed another log inside. 

“You’ll freeze to death if you do that.”

“What?”

“It needs air,” she told him, stepping forwards again. “The fire. It has to breathe.” 

“Mind your business?” Gendry snapped, but it came out as more of a question than a demand. He was too tired to be angry. He reached for an iron poker and jerked away the log he’d recently thrown on and saw that Arya was right. Slowly, the fire crackled and consumed the wood as it grew stronger.

“I would have thought a blacksmith knew how to keep a fire going.”

His face reddened. “It’s the ale,” he said by way of explanation. 

“Right,” she said simply. She’d been creeping closer to him the entire time. Now, she stood within arm’s reach. He could easily grab her, he realized with amusement. He could throw her over his shoulder, light as a feather, and toss her into the fire. 

Or, more preferably, onto his bed.

Despite every sense of better judgement, he felt his erection press stiffly against his trousers. His hands were on her before he could stop himself. Gendry gripped her upper arms and judged that yes, he could easily lift her if she allowed him to. She’d be lighter than the pounds of dragonglass he’d spent most of that month hauling about the smith. She’d be lighter than his warhammer. 

But could she fight him? Gendry tested the firmness of her biceps beneath his fingers. He didn’t doubt her strength, tiny as she was. There was absolutely no softness to be found in the muscles of her arms. It marveled him how something so small could contain such strength.

He couldn’t read the expression on her face. Her features were neutral, but her lips were parted as though there were words there still left unsaid. Her gray eyes bounced on his face, some unasked question lingering there. Bruises still marred her face, joined by cuts and scrapes that would no doubt forms scars. 

She was so beautiful that it hurt.

“You should go,” he said, huskier than he wanted to. He dropped his hands as though he’d been burned. “I’ve had enough of you bothering me for one night.” He really was drunk if he thought he could speak to her that way and not feel the repercussions. 

Arya was quick to narrow her eyes at him. She looked so poised and put together that all Gendry could think of was how he could goad her out of all that steely self-control. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until her brain rattled.

“Bother you, do I?”

“Yes, you do, barging in here as though you own the place.”

“My family owns Winterfell,” she informed him.

“Oh, that’s right. I suppose you can come and go as you please. Forgive me m’lady.”

“I told you not to call me that.”

He’d successfully pissed her off. Her expression was hard, her eyebrows narrowed over those deceptively pretty eyes. Her jaw was clenching and unclenching in frustration. Gods help him, seeing her angry only made him want her more. He felt his blood thrum with anticipation for a battle.

“Should I call you m’lord instead?”

“I always knew you were an idiot.”

“Well if I’m such an idiot then what did you come in here for hoping for?”

His reply had caught her off guard. She looked as though she’d been scalded by hot water. 

Finally, he thought. The mask slipped.

Her eyes darted downwards to the front of his pants, so quickly that he could have missed it if he’d blinked. His erection was fighting painfully against his trousers and it took everything in him to pretend it wasn't there. But Arya had already noticed and, judging by her reaction, it hadn’t put her off.

In fact, if he didn’t know any better, he thought he saw a familiar hunger flash through her eyes. 

The incredulity of it all made him want to laugh. His head was spinning and his heart was breaking. She didn’t want to marry him, but he still had something that she wanted. The sense of power almost made him dizzy.

Fucking Arya right now would be the stupidest thing he’d ever done, and he’d done plenty of stupid things. She was too pretty and he was too drunk. And if he was being completely honest with himself, he was still infuriatingly mad at himself for his foolishness today. 

He was also still ravingly mad at her, even though his rational mind knew he had no right to be.

There would be no foreplay, like their first time. There would be no gentle kisses, no soothing strokes to warm her up before he sank into her. If he did this with her now, he would rut against her little body like a dog in heat. He’d sink his cock into her, over and over again until she screamed. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked him.

Her voice sounded miles and miles away. Now she was standing on a boardwalk in Braavos, sun kissing her fair skin, saltwater bringing a slight curl to her dark hair. She beckoned him forward with one hand, and threatened him with a dagger in the other. 

“Gendry.”

His name sobered him. He felt the fight drain away from his body, replaced with a leaden exhaustion.

Gendry’s field vision began to shift. He blinked a few times until it righted itself. “I’m…” he began. “I’m fucking drunk, Arya.”

He watched her bite the inside of her cheek. Was she laughing at him? “I’m aware,” she deadpanned.

A thought occurred to him. “You went to Braavos,” he said. “You’re so little. Can you even swim?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I learned. Can you find your way into bed?”

“Think so,” he mumbled. He staggered away. “I can’t swim. Nearly drowned, once. But I guess I learned, too.”

Arya didn’t respond. She was loosening the ties of his leather jerkin for him.

“Though I guess if it’s between swimming or dying, you have to learn how to swim, don’t you?”

“Stop talking, Gendry.” She guided the vest off of him and threw it to the floor.

“I thought the whole point of you coming here was to talk.”

“Not like this,” she said quietly, and if he wasn’t so inebriated he may have thought she looked rueful. When he fumbled to remove his trousers, Arya brushed his hands away and helped him with that, too.

“You’re a good friend,” he informed her.

“Because I’m helping you take your trousers off?”

“No,” he laughed. “Before this...” he waved his hands around. “You and I. We were a team, weren’t we? You, me, and Hotpie. You were probably the best friends I’ve ever had.”

His confession seemed to have struck a nerve with her because she grew more forceful with the ties of his trousers. “Is that so?”

“Who’s your best friend, then?” he asked her. His trousers were finally undone and they fell in a heap to the floor. She shot a furitive glance at his erection and looked away.

“No one,” Arya replied. Then, after some silence, “I suppose Jon.”

Gendry nodded approvingly as he stepped out of the tangle of his clothes. He was wearing nothing but his tunic. “Good man,” Gendry told her.

“I don’t know about that any more.”

He furrowed his brow at her questioningly, but before he could speak again she shoved him backwards onto the bed. Arya removed her clothes in such haste that she was standing before him, completely naked, before he could fully realize what was happening. His cock was so hard that it was standing at stiff attention between them, tenting the lower half of his tunic.

“Your clothes are gone,” he said stupidly.

Arya didn’t answer. She rested a hand on each of his knees and that single touch of skin on skin electrified him. She slid those hands up his thighs, pushed away the edge of his tunic, and wrapped her hands around his length. His breath came out in a rush.

Their first time, he hadn’t really tutored her on what to do to please him. They’d been in such a frenzy that he’d barely had time to even please her. He’d done his best, Gods help him, he’d worked her cunt with all the dedication he had. He’d touched and sucked and fondled her until she begged him to stop. Then he’d sank into her, slowly, carefully, and given her everything he could before the world fell apart around them.

In comparison, it now seemed as though they had all the time in the universe. He closed his eyes as his head began to swim. If he looked at those little hands on his cock, he’d lose himself right then.

“Get up here,” he ordered her. When he felt those lithe limbs crawl over him, his throat went dry. After a long, heart-wrenching moment, he felt the calloused fingertips of one hand touch his face. 

He opened his eyes and immediately regretted it. Having her face so close to his had chipped away the last of his self-control.

“I don’t know what to do,” she confessed, looking slightly peeved that she had to say the words. 

Gendry huffed out a laugh. “Leaving when I asked you to would have been a good idea.” 

Ignoring him, Arya pressed herself down along his length. He realized instantly that she was wet, her slickness gliding easily along him. Then, finding a rhythm that she liked, she continued to rock against him, satisfying her own urges and driving him slightly mad.

His hands flew to her hips, stilling her movements with a rough grip. “Sit on my cock properly,” he told her.

She hesitated, then lifted away from him slightly. She was watching him with wild, inquisitive eyes and he understood well then how little she knew of what to do next. 

He brought his hand down to cup her hard and she watched him with gratifying relief. “Do you touch yourself down here?” he said softly, studying her changing facial expression. Her defenses had fallen away so easily in just those few words. She was looking at him as though he carried the answers to the universe inside of him.

“I tried,” she admitted, as he stroked her languidly. “After we… “

“We?” he goaded her.

“After we laid together.”

The words were so uncharacteristically maidenly that it brought a wide, drunken grin to his face. She grimaced in response, seemingly annoyed.

He didn’t care. He wound his fingers into her hair and pulled her down for a kiss he wasn’t quite sure she wanted. But if Arya didn’t like it, she could have fooled him. She ate at him greedily, her tongue dragging along his in long, sensuous pulls. With his free hand, he reached downwards again and slipped two fingers inside of her. 

She gasped at the intrusion, breaking their kiss. He grunted, “Here. Here is where my cock goes. It’s still tight, but if it took me once, it’ll take me again.”

“I could lay down,” she offered instead. “You could do it like that.”

“Coward,” he baited her, and she stiffened predictably in offense. What he couldn't tell her was that if he had the control, she wouldn’t be leaving his bed for the rest of the night. Possibly ever. He’d tie her down and keep her there, fucking and making love and feeding her at regular intervals to keep her strength up. They were primal, depraved thoughts and he hoped the Gods forgave him for how they thrilled him.

With some maneuvering she finally, gloriously, sank down on his length. They breathed out simultaneous sighs of relief. “Keep doing that,” he told her, and she obliged. She pulled up and her cunt sucked him back in greedily with movement. After experimenting, she found a rhythm that soothed them both. 

She was watching his face, so he watched her in return. They drank each other in, and when Gendry dug her fingers in his hips and fucked her in earnest, she looked at him like he was the only person in the world. 

“Fuck,” he breathed. “I won’t hold out long.”

“What?” she panted, never ceasing her pace.

“I’ll cum soon. Arya. You’ll have to pull off when I tell you to.”

That part, at least, she understood. When he grit his teeth and jerked her away, she leapt off of him quickly. He shut his eyes tight as he worked himself the last few seconds to orgasm.

Suddenly, her fingers were pushing his hands way and now they were on his cock, mimicking the motion. She gripped him a little too roughly, but his sick brain melted the pain and pleasure together until he was coming harder than he ever had in his life.

His hands flew up to catch her wrists, stilling her motion as he spilled himself over his abdomen. Gendry’s head was still buzzing with alcohol and the rush of his own blood in his ears, so he only barely heard Arya when she stepped away from the bed. 

The loss of her warmth helped sober him. He opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling, fully expecting her to be dressing and getting ready to leave. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel just a little used, laying there discarded with his own cum on his stomach.

Gentle hands touched his skin. A soft cloth dipped in water.

She was cleaning him.

“You have a lot of bruises,” she commented, as though they were discussing the weather. Her calloused fingers idly traced the lines of his abdomen. It felt ridiculously good, and all prior thoughts of being used faded away.

“You have more,” he replied, eyes drifting shut. 

“I’ve had worse.” The words were quieter and farther away as she moved away from him. “Turn over,” she said then, close to him again. “I’m cold.”

Gendry obliged, turning the right way in bed and dropping back onto the pillows. Arya pulled the covers up over him. Then, seeming to deliberate only for a moment, she crawled into bed with him.

“Of course you’re cold,” he muttered nonsensically. “You’re still naked.”

“Go to sleep.”

“Mmm,” he assented. He was gone almost instantly, body both exhausted and sated all at once.

\------

When Gendry woke the next morning, he wasn’t surprised that he was alone. He was still half-convinced that he had dreamt the whole thing up, drunk as he was. 

He dressed clumsily and wandered down into the kitchens, running into several equally haggard-looking Northern and Wildling folk. They nodded at him and dragged their feet about the place, much to the chagrin of the kitchen maids and servers who were in the midst of preparing meals. They had no time to deal with hungover fools looking for sustenance.

When a hand reached out of an alcove and grabbed a fistful of his cloak, Gendry was helpless to fight. He’d nearly crashed nose-first into a wall. He groaned as his brain rattled in his head and looked down.

Arya was standing before him, with a face that was less than impressed with his delayed reaction.

“Wha-”

“Here.” She shoved a small vial into his hand.

“Poison?”

“No, idiot. For your head.”

“Oh.” Was he still dreaming?

She shoves half a loaf of bread in his other hand. “There wasn’t much left,” she told him. “You missed most of the food.”

“Thank you,” he replied slowly, still feeling as though this all couldn’t be real. Guilt was crawling it’s way up his chest. “Listen. Last night, I-”

Arya shook her head. “Don’t.”

“We should-”

“Don’t.”

He grimaced. “We should be able to talk about this. We’re adults, you know. We’re also… friends,” he finished lamely.

“What is there to say?” she snapped at him, dragging him further into the alcove as a man stumbled past.

“It’s not right, what I did. You’re… I don’t know, you’re-”

“If you say it’s because I’m a lady Gendry, for Gods’ sake, I will cut your throat.” 

Gendry bit his tongue. An uncomfortable silence passed, until Arya’s hand reach out and fisted his cloak again.

“Besides,” she said quietly, squinting at him. “I seem to recall doing a lot of the work. You didn’t do anything.”

Gendry blinked at her, utterly dumbfounded. She whirled away and left him standing there like an idiot, still holding the vial and bread and wondering if this feeling blooming in his chest was spelling disaster, or promising hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
